I didn’t need confirmation in a cup; the black circles around his eyes were enough.
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I hiss, angrier than I’ve ever been. Shoving a few of my things into a duffel bag, I inform, “I’ll figure it out. I always do. Don’t worry about me.” I grab my tennis shoes in the living room and sit on a box to put them on. “I’ll go back to California and see if I can get my life back. You should return to rehab.”
With his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, he rocks between his feet. “That is why I needed you,” he mumbles, almost inaudibly. “I’m checking into some place called Arietta Farms in Texas.”
I blink, stunned like he just smacked me across the face with a dead fish. “You’re going to Texas?”
You’re stealing my life?
You’re going to be that close to Jynx?
Again—How dare you!
“You were supposed to be there.”
“I thought you were fine when you came to California, but as it always is with you, Bran, it was another fucking lie. You’ve got one chance to tell me exactly what you did. I know damn well this wasn’t because one visit from a stranger changed your tune about everything!”
I know. I have a few friends in Texas all on my own.
I know.
He rubs his lips together and glances away before sitting down on the box across from me. “Back in January, you called me.”
Standing up, I hastily remark, “I call you all the time. You never call me back.”
“Yeah, well you told me what you were doing online. And I knew why you were doing it. I had to do something to stop you.”
“What did you do?” My house of cards shakes, tumbling to the ground as the truth quakes in my soul. The reverberations are real and almost knock me off balance. I shake my head in disbelief, screaming, “What did you do, Bran?”
“I went and talked to Gus.”
“You talked to Gus? You went back to the compound after they threatened our family?”
“Dad raped my wife! It wasn’t the club’s fault! You need to stop blaming everyone but the one who instigated it, Abby! Dad did that to teach both of us a lesson!”
“It only taught me one thing,” I sass, grabbing my jacket. “To never trust a biker.”
“It was Dad’s fault!” He roars through the house. “Are you blind, Daddy’s Little Girl? Daddy who gave his princess everything she wanted. Daddy who loved his precious girl. Daddy who named you Echo. He is responsible for what happened to Tawny. He did that. Not you. Not me.”
“Fuck you, Brandon!” I spin away, and he grabs my arms, pinning me against the wall. “He didn’t give me everything I wanted. He gave me piano and ballet lessons and a fuckton of absent father. That is what he gave me. And he kissed it all better by giving me shit to occupy my time, so he could go stick his dick in the hooch of the month.”
“I don’t know when I will see you again, and no one else in the world is brave enough to put it out there in front of you.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, snarling, and holding back the tears. “There was one.”
“You need to accept that Dad’s version of love for you is pretty damn fucked up. He isn’t a man you should be respecting or looking up to and I know you still do. He had the heart attack and you ran to his side. Just like always. You’re either running away or running to Dad. Why don’t you stop and think, and then run to someone who does matter and who is worth looking up to?”
Everything stops as I’m suddenly forced to deal with my feelings for Jynx all at once. I don’t know how to stay. I run at the first sign of distress. And I don’t know if that will ever change—that is why I left. Jynx deserves more than a girl always on the run. He deserves more than a fucked up mess who doesn’t believe she can stay, fight, and win.
“My relationship with Jynx Monroe does not concern you.”
“You’re with Jynx because I asked Gus for help and he contacted his supplier who happened to know a hacker. And do you know who that guy is?”
“You son of a bitch!” I twist my forearms and shake to get out from under his frame. But my drug-addicted asshole of a brother doesn’t budge. He stands firm, taking my blows and demanding I open my eyes. I finally give up the struggle. “You fucking told someone! You betrayed me!”
“I told Gus and his supplier.” He releases his grip and points to his fingers. “I asked for help, Abigail!”
“And his supplier’s name just happened to be Deacon Cruz.”
“Yeah,” he confirms as tears stream over my cheeks. “It was. I called him and I begged for help because my bat shit crazy sister wanted someone to kill her because she couldn’t stomach the idea of killing herself after Colton died.”
“You’re such a fucker!” I cry, babbling incoherently. “It was all a set up, rigged to make me stop. Jynx was never supposed to stay.”
He rolls his hazel eyes and huffs, “I did it because I love you, Abby. And you deserve a lot more than what you were wanting. You deserve love.”
“No! I don’t! I never did!” Glancing up, I spot the tears in his eyes. “I was the replacement child for Alan, nothing more. Dad wanted another boy and he got me. That is why I became his biker brat.”
He sighs, ignoring my need to segue the conversation. “Jynx was only supposed to figure out how to remove the ad. I didn’t know he was going to…” He looks for the words, waving his arms around like the answer will land on his fingertips. “I didn’t know he was going to fall in love with you. I didn’t know he would be so damned perfect for my sister. Before you walk away from him for good, you need to take a breath.”
“I already walked away from him,” I callously say like the bitch I was born to be. “And now, I’m walking away from you.”
“Abby, please!”
“There is nothing left to say. Good luck with selling the house, rehab, and the rest of your life. I’m going to live mine.”
41
Can We Go Back
Jynx
My eyes slit open as the sun starts to fade into the horizon. The brightness blinds my eyes, prohibiting my sleep. “Fuck…the cocks!” I stumble out of bed, wishing I could return to the dream I was having. Echo and I were on a tropical white sand beach.
I still hear her laugh.
I still see her smile.
I trip over the pile of clothes, grabbing onto the dresser, and knocking over the tequila bottle. “Goddammit!”
I throw a dirty shirt on the puddle to soak up the mess.
She’s been out of my life for three weeks.
October is almost here.
And I’m moving next week. I should’ve been there last week, but I ran into some trouble with a guy named Jim Beam and his best friend, Jose Cuervo. They dueled my ass nightly and kept winning by a wide margin.
Don’t bet on me.
Foolish moves.
I fire up a smoke before tugging on my jeans. I need a shower, a shave, and maybe something to eat that doesn’t come in a bottle. I hurt—all over. I pop a couple of acetaminophens and grab the uncapped whiskey bottle off of the nightstand. I wash them down and grab my ball cap.
Fuck the shirt or belt.
I zip down the staircase to the wrecked house. Grandma would kick my fucking ass if she knew how bad it looked. I slip on a pair of flip-flops by the side door and head out to feed the animals. I should’ve kept the Ag boys on until I left, but I stuffed a wad of cash in their palms, thanked them for their help, and let them go in one sentence.
I. Am. An. Asshole.
Riding the four-wheeler out to the horse stalls, I feel her arms around me. I kill it and grieve, moping with my hand covering my face. I’m not a man who cries. More bluntly, I don’t ever cry. But fuck if she hasn’t got me. She is inflicting severe damage now.
“God, I miss you,” I sob, breaking down and feeling all the pain of losing her. She isn’t here. And she isn’t coming back.
Where is she?
I don’t have a fucking clue, and neither does anyone else. No credit cards. No plane tickets. No re-emergence in California.
Nothing.
I’d worry about her if I didn’t know her, but she’ll put up a fight. I keep telling myself she doesn’t need me. She’ll be okay without me. And it’s probably all true.
Echo doesn’t need me.
I want her to need me.
“Fuck!” I bellow, kickstarting the four-wheeler. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand and barrel toward the barn, full speed ahead. It won’t kill me like I wanted the cement wall to do when I was twenty-seven.
But I even fucked that up.
I grumble and groan, dismounting to gather the cocks and fowls’ feed. I ride out to their pen and dump the bucket of chow. I freshen the water as they squawk in protest at the missing girl who used to chatter with them.
I’m surrounded by peacocks and lost without one girl.
“You guys should go to Dermot’s parent’s house,” I say, snarling. He owns the feed store in town and offered to buy the whole flock from me. I doubt they’ll stay put anywhere they go.
This is their home.
I wanted to be her home.
She flew away because she was in danger.
Just like a peacock, my Sweet Pea, flew away from me.
She was in danger too.
And it was all my fucking fault.
Regardless if I move them to Texas or sell them to Dermot, they’ll feel displaced and out of sorts. They’ll spend the rest of their lives trying to get back to where they belong.
“Just like you.”
Shit.
She won’t. She isn’t a damn bird. She’s a girl with a mind of her own.
And I don’t think she is well trained enough to return to me.
A few months was all it took for her to screw me over completely. I’ll be looking for her—forever. I’m part of a mated pair, and my partner has gone…missing.
Ignore that it never should’ve happened because she was too damn young; the simple truth is that it did.
And now, all I want is her.
“Be good ladies and gents.”
She always wanted to stay longer with the peacocks. Sometimes, we would. Far too often, I had work waiting in the house, and I would cut her short. I will never have the chance to do that again. And even if I did, I wouldn’t rush us along. I’d prop next to the coop and relish in her playing with the birds she felt spiritually connected to.
I hop on the four-wheeler and drive the long way around the property, out by the lake. Immediately, I stop, jarred by the sight of a gator sticking half-way out of my lake.
“Where the hell did you come from?” He spots me, not moving. We’re in a stand-off—he and I—and on the other side of him is the shed where she stayed.
She isn’t there.
First place I checked.
I stop every day, paying penance for my sins and begging the disciples of darkness to bless me with one gift. “You’re a big, beautiful boy. You can attack me if you want, but my girl’s spirit is in that shed over there. And that, my friend, is where I am going.”
With determination, I point, and he seems to understand, scooting back into the water and disappearing without incident.
“Go feast on a cotton mouth or snapper turtle.”
I speed past the lake and park. Unlocking the door, I spot the chains lying on the floor and close my eyes as the flashback haunts my mind.
In my Phoenix hotel room, I asked, “What do you mean—a girl wants to be assaulted?”
“I mean, this kid’s sister is off her rocker and asking to be raped. The ad is up on the Gray Market,” Deacon said, smoking like a chimney on the phone. “Can you see if you can pull it down or something?”
Or something.
I scratch my forehead and lay on the bed. The pillow still smells like her perfume as I grip it to my chest.
“You want to abduct her?” he asked, shaking his head as I met with him outside the hotel in New Orleans. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re getting in too deep.”
“It’s too late for that. Are you going to help me or do I need to bind and gag her all the way to South Carolina?”
“I’ll help you, but you’re going to be the one needing help if you lose her,” he advised, handing the pills to me. “Make sure you want to do this because if you fuck up, she will destroy you.”
I hate how right he was.
My hand clutched around the pill bottle. “How do you know?”
“Because you’re a predator, Jynx. And you won’t admit it, but you’ve been stalking her for months. Her brother wanted the ad taken down, and you decided to usher this thing in a fucked up direction. She’s yours. And this mess is on you.”
I remember picking her up out of the car when we finally arrived. She was out of it. I didn’t know what to do with her, so I did the one thing I knew she couldn’t get out of—a shackle and chain on her foot in the shed. It wasn’t the best situation, but neither was her option.
We were both bad—searching for a way out. She found hope in an online post, and I rekindled my addiction by hijacking her life.
Neither of us was getting out unscathed.
Her wounds, my scars…we were a mess of hurt and misery, but somehow, it worked. She had the light in her eyes, tempted by my dreadful ways. I guarded the doom and reveled in her emanating rays.
I toss the pillow down and straighten the bed. “I love you, Echo Maines.”
With a smirk, I see the look in her eyes as I thrust into her ass. She believed in me.
“I want an honorable man with a closet full of skeletons.”
“I possess those; I possess you.”
Tilting my head back, I rub my eyes. “There’s no coming back from where we’ve been. And there is no getting over you.” I mournfully walk out of the shed, shut and lock the door. I press my hand to the wood. “I’m sorry I took you. I’m sorry I broke you. I’m sorry I ruined you.”
The sun sets, shooting off a generous splash of tangerine and flamingo in the sky. She loved dusk with a passion. I stop off at the barn to feed and water the horses. I’ll clean the stalls tomorrow. I said that yesterday too. I should call someone to help with the horses.
I should call someone to help me.
But who would understand what I’m going through?
I abducted a girl, and now, I’m disheartened because I lost her. Fuck you, asshole. Fuck me. I fucked up.
I’m just lucky she didn’t file charges against me. She had every right. I took her. I coerced her. I fell in love with her and refused to give her up. And I did terrible things to her every night in the darkness.
In the light, she forgave me.
Because I am a gentleman with a decent body, a friendly smile, and kind regard, she pardoned me for the spoils of the midnight hour, and I punished her body until dawn for being so damned beautiful.
Hell, I miss her.
I scout over the house, which resembles a bachelor pad. Grandma really would kick my ass for this. “I have to clean this shithole up because I’m moving in four days.” I grab my phone, turn on some music—Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy—and blast it.
I start with dumping one suitcase from Arizona directly into the washing machine. I hit the kitchen next containing twenty-one days of dishes—coffee cups and silverware, mostly. I empty the fridge with all the leftovers I’ve stashed.
Picking up the living room, I fill one trash bag and start another. I grab one of the booze boxes—there were three - a box for each week - I’m balanced after all—and fill it with the empty liquor bottles.
I clean the bathroom to a spotless shine, change my sheets, and collect the laundry from my room. I vacuum and mop. I clean until I smell like damn Lysol and bleach.
“I’m certain I didn’t wear all of these clothes,” I mumble, looking at the four laundry baskets full. “Shit…” I sigh, knowing there is no way I’m finishing it toni
ght. Stripping off my clothes, I toss them to the growing heap and grab a bottle of water from the fridge before heading upstairs. I pass by the double doors on the second floor. “I’m packing you up tomorrow.”
I haven’t decided if I’m selling the farm.
The beach house is on the market—cheap.
I turn on the shower and smoke a cigarette, wishing I had something more. I don’t. I know better. Addiction is a nasty thing. But tonight, it would be nice to cut the edge off. I stare at myself in the mirror. “You need to shave and go for a run.”
I decide not to put off one of those.
Twenty minutes later, I realize how bad I look as my pasty skin holds the dimples I cannot hide. “Tomorrow, you’re eating.” I point at myself in the mirror. “No excuses. Need to get back up on the horse.” I nod and step into the hot, steaming water. “Damn.”
Pressing my hands to the tiled wall, I try to remember the last time I was in water. It’s been at least a week, probably when I puked the gin. I love goddamned gin. Unfortunately, it doesn’t like me. Course, I drank the entire bottle in a matter of two hours.
I lather myself up twice and stay in the shower until I run out of hot water. I let the cold blast my skin and let out a deep, guttural roar. I have got to get her out of my system.
Hit me with something.
As long as it doesn’t have a pussy.
Please stop raping my heart.
I’m begging.
I feel infringed upon, violated, assaulted.
She’s penetrating my soul and threatening to end me. I cannot let her do this to me. “I’m Jynx Monroe. I hit Echo. I quit Echo.” I repeat it about a hundred times as I dry off and toss on a pair of loose, thin gray lounge pants. I grab my laptop from the bag, click on the flatscreen, and sign into Gray Market.
Nothing.
Her ad isn’t up.
I search for her name to see when the last time she was on was. Her account has been disabled or deleted by the user.
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